


Siren's Song

by Fidix, Zinfandel



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Consensual, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Pirate!Pitch, Pitch Black Being an Asshole, Siren!Jack, as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidix/pseuds/Fidix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Jack Frost decided he wanted to be free. And what greater freedom is there than to have the whole of the ocean in your palm, sailing as a pirate? So what if he technically wasn't human, and so what if the crew he joined basically had no idea he was there. Being basically invisible was a small price to pay to live as a normal person, and Jack wouldn't let his voice and magic ruin such a good thing if it killed him. </p><p>Looks like today is the day he dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fidix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidix/gifts).



> A collaboration between the lovely and talented Fidix and I! It has been collecting dust on my computer for months, and we both really enjoyed writing it even if it's not done. I wanted to share <3

It had been fine, at least until Pitch had pushed him up against the nearest cabin door by surprise and drawn the most embarrassing sound Jack had ever made from his lips. He managed months, _months_ , without an incident, without a sound. Through the Black Seas of Kanda, the roughest waters they’d ever sailed, without so much as a peep.

But the hands, those big, _big_ hands on his chest, so warm, made him squeak. Even if the sharp edge of the knife pressed to his stomach was a little alarming, it wasn’t a first time experience, something he thought he should have been a little more wary about due to past encounters.

Not to mention the hiss of the captain’s velvet voice in his face, so close but not close enough, questioning him, golden eyes narrowed in suspicion.

But, here he was. Trapped like a rat with no way out. No one else on deck was paying any attention, and, thank Poseidon, they hadn’t heard his yelp. But Captain Pitch certainly heard it and now the man was staring down at him like he had two heads.

 

Did he? Was that what the man was seeing? Jack wouldn’t put it past him, many sailors claimed he became the most fantastic things when he spoke to them, why would this one be any different?

His personal favourite to date, was this “Kraken” form, something that particular sailor had always dreamed of seeing, of defeating, of dying by that monster’s hand if he couldn’t kill it. A stubborn man, that one. Lived until he was nearly a century old, and probably would have gone on longer, had he not seen his Kraken.

In the end, Jack hadn’t killed him, nor been killed. The man had been so frightened by what he saw he’d died on the spot, his old, crusty heart unable to withstand  its own racing pulse.

Regardless, Jack swallowed down the lump in his throat and looked up at his captain, his mouth gaping open at the expression he was presented with. Pitch was...well he didn’t look particularly smitten beyond redemption so that was a...plus? But Jack wasn’t hopeful. This was supposed to be his chance, his break, his new start as himself, as solely just a man, and not the spells and magics that made his appearance anything but.

But no. He couldn’t hold it together, after trying so hard, couldn’t just keep the surprise squashed in his throat, and now here he was about to be gutted and surprised that he wasn’t already.  

The knife twisted dangerously into his skin and Jack gasped on an inhale but kept his voice under command. He tried to make words solely with his lips but found that they were probably just flapping uselessly in his shock.

Pitch growled in frustration as his question wasn’t answered and retaliated by grabbing Jack by his scrawny neck and pulling him away from the door to swing it open and throw the boy inside before him.

Jack stumbled, catching himself just before he fell, tucking his wings to not catch them against a cabinet. The captain was yelling at him, words he could barely hear, because what was even _going on_? What brought this on, what had he done to make him so _angry_?

And then he started listening and... _oh_.

So he wasn’t angry then, not entirely. Confusion laced through his voice, a certain desperation that screamed, ‘ _I need to know what you are, right now_ ,’  and Jack wondered why that was suddenly so important.

He wondered if it had anything to do with the lust that was threading into his voice as well.

He’d been on this ship for months, _months_ for the captain to figure out what he was, for anyone to figure that he wasn’t human, and if anyone had, if anyone had even noticed,  that oh, they couldn’t actually see him, no one had bothered to raise any concern over the matter.  

But Jack doubted the captain hadn’t noticed anything. The captain knew _everything_.

_So why was this so important now?_

And then the captain was yelling again, and Jack realised he’d forgotten that he’d been asking questions in his shouts.

“What are you?” He shouted right next to Jack’s ear, and even so close, even so loud, that voice was just as smooth as it always was.

Jack still couldn’t help his flinch at such force of emotion directed towards him. He was just getting used to being completely ignored that it was kind of jarring to be back under full attention. Still, he managed to wave his hand towards the writing desk in the cabin that housed the mapping utensils, and Pitch, while clearly aggravated, let Jack sidle on over and pull out parchment and quill.

He wrote one word. it was all he needed really, and held up the sheet for his captain to read.

“Siren,” the man said in disbelief as he straightened and took a step back.

Jack only nodded.

“Well.” Pitch cleared his throat. “I suppose that explains the feathers.”

Jack’s eyes widened.

“What do you see?” the words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them.

Pitch hesitated, reluctant to answer.

“You will tell me this,” Jack said, urgency creeping into his voice. “You are under my spell, and this is the deal. I show you what you want most, and you tell me what it is you see. You will tell me this.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Jack was sure he would never know what it was he saw. But, albeit distantly, he could feel the familiar tug of their exchange, the invisible cord that connected them. A deal was a deal, even if made indirectly. Because the captain had drawn sound from him, had heard his voice, and whether he wanted this deal or not, he had it.

And so he had to hold up his end of the bargain.

Pitch stepped back from him, a slight smirk playing over his features. His eyes raked over Jack’s body slowly, or whatever he was seeing. He took his time, taking in every detail, and Jack waited, growing more restless with each passing minute.

Agitated, Jack shifted away from the desk, his feathers fluffing in involuntary anxiety.

“Are you done yet?” he croaked.

The captain chuckled, slowly, a melodic sound so deep it could have come from the very depths of the sea.

“If you wanted me to look at you, Jack, all you had to do was say so.”

“I wanted you to describe me, not stare at me over the length of time it takes to sail the Tasmail Oceans.”

“Describe you, hmm? Where would you like me to start? Your face? Your height? Your hair colour? Or maybe the fact that you are _nude_? You have more feathers on your back, did you know? Wings, even. Fascinating.”

Jack sucked in a breath, something that sounded sharp and shaky in the silence of the room.

“ _Oh_.”

“Do tell, Jack.”

Jack shook his head. “No. Tell me more. Tell me what else you see.”

Pitch laughed again, the same slightly condescending deep sound as before.

“Your hair is white. Spiking. It defies gravity, Jack. I suppose that fits the wings.” Pitch brought his hand up, carding long fingers through his hair before Jack could pull away. “And just as I suspected, you have feathers in your hair as well.

“Your eyes are blue, and your lashes white as your hair. You have dark eyebrows and high cheekbones, pale skin like you haven’t ever seen daylight. You have feathers on your shoulders, and parts of your neck.” Pitch brought his hands up again, trailing his fingers up said feathers to mark where they were. But Jack knew where they were, even as he shivered under Pitch’s hands as he gently lifted the quills on the upstroke.

Pitch trailed his fingers down his arms, lifting his hands and examining them.

“Are these supposed to be talons?” Pitch questioned, looking at Jack smugly.

Jack nodded, flexing his fingers as he pulled away.

“What else?”

Pitch circled him slowly, keeping one hand on Jack’s skin as he did so, as if he couldn’t bear to not touch him.

“Nice ass,” he said with a devious grin, trailing the hand down Jack’s spine and over the one asscheek, fingers brushing his thigh before Jack jumped, hissing at the warm hand on his skin, but refusing to spin to face the Captain, letting him continue his observations.

“Your body temperature is...odd, to say the least. Nowhere near what any birdy should be, Jack. You’re quite cool.”

He was silent for a moment, and then another, long enough that Jack was sure he wasn’t going to speak again. A beat later though, Pitch’s mouth opened again. “So this is what I want most, hm? Of all the things I could have seen under your spell, I see this.”

Jack shrugged.

“And what do I get, now that I’ve seen it? Do you stay with me until I am an old man on my death bed, gone to sea for one last bout? Do you disappear, and teach me a lesson on greed, leaving me to know that I will never have what I want most? Do you dash my ship upon the rocks? Tell me, Jack, what happens now?” With every last word, he took a step closer, until their noses were almost touching.

Jack stared at him, at his golden eyes, so far from being human eyes, and yet somehow the most human eyes he’d ever seen.

He could do any of those things. He was powerful, destroying a ship would be easy.

But Pitch could see _him_. And he couldn’t lose that. Hell, at the very least he had grown somewhat attached to the bedraggled crew even if they barely knew he was there, the guys should be more than enough reason to spare the ship. And Captain Black? Well so far as Jack had evaded suspicion his life on the vessel was the best that he had scrounged up for himself in decades. He didn’t really want to lose it…

“I-uh…” So much for being a word weaver now. “I don’t...know?” Jack inhaled shakily. “I don’t know. This has...well, something like this has never happened. Uh. I should leave. Like, this room. Not the ship.” Jack’s hands flailed, unsure. This was so much, and so not what he’d been expecting.  “I really should...uh but. Really? Is that... _really_?” Jack had to step back. He ran a hand through his hair and smoothed down the feathers at the back of his neck, fidgeting.

Pitch stood straight, folding his arms across his chest as a deep scowl spread across his features.

“I will make conversation when you cease blathering like a fool.”

Jack gave a frustrated growl. This was all. his. fault. Fucking Pitch. He’d just wanted an escape, an out from the role he was expected to play. Lure, fuck, drown, time after time, until he himself was spent, until he withered into nothing and his body returned to whatever gods had given it to him.

And now it was happening again.

And it was Pitch’s fault.

Jack shook his head, an attempt to clear it, and turned to stalk out of the room. Pitch watched him go, he could feel those eyes on his unclothed - to Pitch and himself - back, following him as he exited.

He didn’t bother to go back to his bed to try and find his reprieve, he knew that wasn’t where he would find it. Instead, he made his way to the deck, diving off the side in a graceful arc before spreading his wings and taking off, skimming one hand through the water while he could touch it.

The sky was grey, fitting for his current state of mind. It only took a moment for the ship to disappear beneath him, growing smaller and smaller as he flew higher and higher. The ship was gone, Pitch was gone, and the only thing he could think of was the feel of misty vapor swirling around him as he flew through and out of the clouds.

Being a pirate was great, really, he should have thought of doing this so much sooner. On a ship in the middle of the ocean was so freeing, he wasn’t tied to some rocky desolate island like his kind often roosted on, he wasn’t stuck in some dirty human city making his way by seducing and killing, no, the ship was really a paradise. _His_ paradise. And as he flew, tilting up into the clouds and quickly bursting through above them to skim across a roiling ocean only he could traverse, he let the wind steal his breath on a sigh.

Shit. Was he really running? Was this the best plan? Well, no, actually, he was pretty sure it actually wasn’t. Taking off into the sky didn’t actually register to him as a final goodbye. He wasn’t bound to the ship like his human crewmates were, he never actually figured that he should be. His loyalty wasn’t terrestrial. A pirate’s vows were true no matter which platform they were sworn upon, and Jack decided when he joined Captain Black’s crew that he would do it the right way. He was a pirate through and through, at least in this life. He couldn’t very well just abandon ship.

The wind and sun did wonders to clear his mind, and he was able to sort things through as he flew and dipped and curved through the drafty currents.

So he really fucked it all up. He couldn’t hold his voice from the surprise of being thrown against the door after months of no one being aware of him enough to even breathe in his general direction. Fine, that happened. Then he apparently lost all self control and just spewed his magic all over the place as his Captain described him perfectly. Him. Every bit of siren that differentiated him from a human.

Hah! That was amazing! Pitch actually said those things! To him! Right to his face as if he weren’t under any spell at all!

Jack whooped and flipped through the clouds swirling their dust into arcing trails behind him like the ribbon-like dragons he met once in the east.

That really changed everything didn’t it? Jack couldn’t deny that he was already addicted to the very idea of being seen, _really seen_. And if Pitch was the one to do it? So be it! There were worse people he could imagine just on the ship alone that he’d quickly run from and never return if they saw him (Like the galley cook, gods, it was little wonder Jack went and caught his own food instead).

So, that was that, wasn’t it? His decision was pretty much made as soon as his Captain circled him, appraising.

Because Pitch had been eyeing _him_. Not treasure, or the golden sand he’d been forever after, he’d seen _Jack_ , and he’d given him the same look he gave all the things he loved.

He had been sort of ignoring it for months. The crew often caught glimpses of him just in their peripherals and stopped to stare at the space where Jack should be. By keeping his mouth shut he was able to sort of circumvent his magic, but the result ended up as him being basically invisible to the general population because his appearance depended upon his magics effect on the mind and without the magic in his voice to corrupt the perception of his victims he couldn’t adopt the shape of their greatest desires. So, he sort of just stayed a fuzzy blur at the corners of eyes, and it was an okay setup, if a bit lonesome. But Jack would take lonely any day over the typical acts his species was legendary for.

Ah, flying was great, but he was really losing himself in thought up here...and he had duties to perform before the evening fell.

With a few flips through the dust, coating his feathers in dew, Jack raced back to the dot on the horizon that could only be the Nightmare Galleon, his home.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm posting the other one or two chapters we've had written, but the fic is pretty much abandoned. Sorry folks. There is some actual smuttiness in the next one though!

Jack doesn’t see the captain for two days. He has long become familiar with the ship, knows every single nook and cranny, and he takes advantage of them when he senses Pitch heading his way. He doesn’t want to see him. Not until he can figure his feelings out. And he knows that’s kind of the opposite of what he should be doing because nothing will resolve when he runs from things, but still.

Jack gets his chores done, working quickly and efficiently, putting his back into it. He scrubs the deck on his hands and knees, actions on autopilot - scrub, rinse, repeat. He wants any break he can have from thinking about Pitch. He reweaves fraying ropes and secures the knots in the rigging. Being up high is really helpful and it’s easy to avoid the Captain when he can perch in the masts.

He doesn’t eat with the rest of the crew, wouldn’t have mattered if he did anyway - Pitch dines in his own quarters. But he doesn’t feel like not being seen, nor does he share their rowdiness at this particular moment. So he sneaks into the kitchen before bed - having made vague friends with the burly cook long ago - and takes what he can get of the leftovers, which really isn’t much.

It comes to a precipice those two days later though, when Jack finds himself once again cornered and shoved against the nearest wall. His wings splaying awkwardly from the sudden force.

He doesn’t know how Pitch managed to sneak up on him, he’d been so …. oh. Ha. Daydreaming. About Pitch’s hands. Which were currently pressed to various spaces of his torso. So big and so warm and so - no. He was not going to do this. Because if he started thinking about it, he would never stop.

“Where have you been?” Pitch hisses in his ear, and Jack can feel the warm gust of his breath against the side of his face. It sends shivers down his spine, something he fails to hide from Pitch as he gives a slight shudder beneath him.

“I’ve been here, captain.” His reply is colder than he means it to be, he feels like something is pressing down on his lungs (though, that may be Pitch’s hand) and he can barely breathe, he’s so overwhelmed.

“If you’re going to go, Jack, go. Lead me on a merry chase.” He waves his other hand, irritation lacing through his voice. “But if you are going to stay, stay. You think you can hide from me. You cannot.”

Jack doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know the proper thing to say.

“ I will offer this once. Stay of your own will, or leave and I will hunt you down and drag you back screaming, and like the pirate I am, you will be my prize.”

Jack doesn’t have to think about his answer. He knows Pitch is serious, just as he knows that the ship is his home.

“I’m not some treasure to be had.”

“Then stay. No more running off.”

Pitch backs off, standing a good foot from Jack, rather than the previous three. He’s looking at him again, just as he had those days before. Jack’s knows that look. He knows how much Pitch wants him.

It’s fascinating.

Because no one has ever wanted him before.

Some men think up boxes of treasure, entire taverns of young maidens, enough booze to fill a pond. Pitch thinks up a single person. Pitch thinks of him.

And Jack wants nothing more than to kiss him right now, something that he’s sure is more out of pure joy than actual lust, though the captain is quite handsome, even if it is in a way that makes him appear almost accidentally gorgeous. He’s all angles, sharp nose, sharp eyes, sharp cheekbones and jaw. Tall as most of the corridors, having to lean slightly in some of the smaller ones.

Pitch’s eyes narrow at him, and he realizes that he’s been staring at those lips for longer than is appropriate.

Jack looks away.

He will not let himself do this.

But the captain is a pirate, and he takes what he wants.

The lips on his are firm and slightly chapped. They taste like the sea, salty and refreshing and Jack. just. wants. more. There are hands tangled in his hair pulling at stiff quills, forcing him to crane his head back. Their noses smash together awkwardly, and Jack tilts his head, incidentally deepening the kiss.

And then, there’s a tongue pressing into his mouth, forcing his lips open, curling with his own tongue, and oh god, that’s so good. He hasn’t kissed like this in years, if ever, only the feeling that he was doing his job and not much else. But there’s lust in this, so much lust; he wants Pitch too.

They’re breathing hard when they break away. Jack doesn’t want him to go, keeps his hands on his broad shoulders in an effort to prevent his departure.

They look at each other for a minute, and Jack takes a moment to reevaluate his life decisions and scold his lack of impulse control, because he’s leaning in again, and so is Pitch, and their lips are about to touch….and then he hears the drunken shouts. Oh yes, they’re in the crews quarters. Jack sleeps somewhere down here even, he wonders how he hadn’t realised before. They break apart just as Tiphus appears, a stocky boardman who’s never actually been sober in as long as Jack has known him.

Tiphus gives them a grin, a polite “Aye” to the captain, and then shoves between them in the limited space to get to his bunk.

When they hear the door click, Pitch speaks again. “So, are you going to drag me down into the depths of the sea now?” It’s a joke, Jack knows, and he plays along.

“Oh no, captain. That comes after the sex.” And then he turns and walks away, because he really needs to get out of there before he fucks everything up further.

If Pitch wasn’t enchanted before, he sure as hell is now. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some smut for you!

They meet four times over the next day, each encounter a little more filthy than the last. Jack doesn’t know how it happens, swears he’s thinking ‘don’t do this’ before Pitch’s lips are even on him, but each time said lips press against his, his resolved cracks that much further.

He can’t stop himself, that much is clear, and by the third encounter the Captain had found that spot just behind his ears where his feathers were small and downey, and oh god. He sounded like a tavern wench before he could stop himself. Thank every religion’s gods that they were down in the mess hall after lunch and it was completely vacant.

That one sent Jack flapping up the ladder nearly flying out from below deck in embarrassment.

He spent the next two hours hiding atop the mast making sure his feathers were laying perfectly flat where they should be. Carefully preening himself back into organization and calmness, because, wow, that happened way too fast and he wasn’t even really aware the under feathers of his hair were so sensitive. He shouldn’t have been surprised though, from the way he kept shivering as Pitch made a habit of speaking directly into his ears.

Damn it.

He couldn’t, however, avoid his chores forever. He has spare sails to patch, and he eventually leaves his perch to proceed with the days work.

Unfortunately that quickly turned into Captain Pitch practically smothering him into piles of canvas, his needle and yarn are discarded for nearly clawing apart the other’s shirt.

Pitch’s hands are everywhere at the same time, and Jack can’t think, it’s so much, too much, and… it doesn’t matter. He’s in too deep. It’s too late now. So he rolls with it, because what’s the point in being hesitant if everything’s all fucked up now anyway?

Soon, the captain is gripping his ribs and its almost laughable how small he feels between those palms. Fingers trail his sides and dig in under his back, wedging between his wings and the pile of sail that has suddenly become a bed. He feels Pitch’s blunt nails scrape angry marks between the quills on his back, and he moans into the kiss, a deep sound he can feel reverberate through Pitch’s mouth and back to his.

Jack scrapes at Pitch’s shirt again in a valiant attempt to claw the material to shreds, but Pitch’s hands catch his wrists and pin them over his head, holding them firmly into the fabric beneath them.

Oh, Jack thinks. That’s...new.

It’s an act of control Jack is unfamiliar with, and damn if it doesn’t send a line of fire straight to his half-hard cock. He’s not used to this. Usually, he’s the dominant one. But it’s a change he’s glad to make.

In the end, Jack doesn’t get Pitch’s clothes off. No matter how many grabs he makes for the material, Pitch refuses to let him rip it to shreds. He wonders why, briefly, and then pouts because he just wants to touch him, but then it doesn’t matter anymore, because Pitch’s hand is on him and it’s pumping a slow, firm pace, and Jack can’t do anything but throw his head back and relax into the overstimulation.

Pitch’s fingers are long, his knuckles sharp and angular. Jack can see the tendons flex under the thin skin as Pitch jerks him off, and Jack can’t quite deny the fetish he has for Pitch’s hands anymore.

Jack freezes as he accidentally lets out a small moan, because oh god, it may not matter that Pitch is under his spell anymore, but the entire fucking crew is probably mulling about, and fuck. Having them all affected was not an outcome he cared to see. Pitch, thank god, seems to come to the same idea, as the hand on his cock stills as the other slaps over his mouth.

Shaking his head, Jack knows they should stop. He should stop this. He is puffing breath through his nose rapidly and Pitch’s eyes meet his and Jack hopes he got the message. They needed to stop.

Pitch did not get the message.

Jack lets his head thump back to the ground as Pitch’s hand starts moving again, slower this time, a more controlled pace. The hand on his mouth doesn’t move, Jack doesn’t want it to. It sends a lick of heat down his spine, straight to his gut, even if he can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s the idea of being held down, or the lack of control that comes with Captain Black’s hand on his mouth.

It doesn’t matter right now, only that it feels good. He can think on it later, deduce every detail, break it down into segments, if it still matters.

And then he can’t think anymore at all, because Pitch’s grip switches from light, teasing touches to a firm, relentless pressure that lets him know that, oh god, they’re pretty much in full view of anyone who comes on deck. They don’t have time for anything other than a quick, desperate tumble. He’s fine with that, prefers it actually. Slow means thoughts, and he doesn’t want to think anymore.

He bites into the calloused skin of Pitch’s palm, swears he hears the captain’s breath hitch. The chuckle is definitely there, it’s deep and breathy and makes Jack cant his hips up eagerly, because that voice.

“You’re doing so good, Jack. You’re close, hm?”

It’s not really a question, somehow Pitch just knows, but Jack nods anyway, a whine that he decides to be embarrassed about later escaping his throat.

Blood bursts along his tongue as he clamps his teeth down to stifle his noise, and it tastes good. It’s like a liquor on his tongue and just as intoxicating.

Pitch’s thumb runs over the head of him and that does it. Jack sees stars and tastes blood and comes right there in the open in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the ship in the sails that are going to be hung tomorrow if he can finish the god forsaken patch, which is looking like a completely lost cause.

His mind whites.

And he only comes back to ground because he is huffing against a wet palm and Pitch tries to pull away and Jack is confused because why would he do that?

“Let go of me!”

His teeth are dug deeply into the pad of Pitch’s palm and- christ. Jack immediately opens his mouth, letting the captain go.

Pitch reels back, wiping his good hand on the sail and cradling his injured against his chest, an almighty glare on his face.

Jack’s chin is smeared with blood and saliva. He has only the faculty to gape up at the man shrouding him in shadow.

“Sor-”

“You beast. My hand is practically mangled,” Pitch cuts him off before the apology can be slurred out through Jack’s post-orgasmic haze.

Jack flushes, but he can’t bring himself to regret it. He makes a grab for Pitch’s hand, ignoring the captain’s protests. It’s not bad, not by a long shot. It penetrates the skin, definitely, and there’s blood, but it’s nowhere near the usual damage.

He’d forgotten about his teeth.

Jack brings the hand back up to his mouth, catching it again when Pitch yanks it from his grasp.

“Trust me.” He looks directly at Pitch as he whispers it, watches as his eyes soften in increments.

Pitch grumbles, and he knows that’s about as much permission as he’s going to get. Pirates don’t ‘do’ trust.

He holds Pitch’s hand gently and brings it to his lips once more smirking a red grin as Pitch tenses. Doing what is probably expected, Jack licks at the wound, lapping up the oozing blood. Pitch flinches as Jack digs his tongue into a deep puncture made by his canines.

“What are you, some kind of healing dog as well?” The Captain jeers down at Jack, who in turn digs his teeth back into the wound.

Pitch makes to yank his hand away, but Jack’s grip on his wrist holds it to his mouth. A moment later, after locking eyes with the man for a moment in a silent agreement, Jack let’s his eyes focus back down to the wound at his lips.

He scans their surroundings for a brief moment checking that they are relatively alone, and his mind wanders to briefly contemplate what exactly the crew thought their captain was doing for all intents and purposes alone in the piles of sail on the quarterdeck. He stashes the thought alongside his vow to never whine like he had ever again.

Pitch is watching him, still frowning, so Jack gets on with it. As quiet as he can possibly manage, he starts a low hum that vibrates through his teeth directly into Pitch’s palm. He finds the simple tune quickly, and in a matter of seconds slowly pulls his teeth from the ruined muscle leaving it to heal in the vibrations of his song in their wake.

Jack lets the hand go and all that remains of his damage is a light mouth shaped scar marring Pitch’s darkly tanned skin.

He ventures a glance up after he completes his apology and finds Pitch staring down at him, a hard calculating look in his eyes.

Damn.

He let the afterglow of their tumble in the sails get the better of him and perform a gigantic lapse in judgement. Showing off his magic like that was...incredibly stupid.

Pitch’s mouth quirks up into a nearly malicious smirk, and his eyes narrow as he stares down at Jack.

“You’re a powerful one, aren’t you. Maybe I should just lock you up. Wouldn’t want anyone to steal you away now, would we?”

Jack is instantly on his feet, mouth curled in a snarl.

“You should know that if you lock me in I will get out. And then I’ll never come back. It’s free will or nothing at all.”

“And if I can assure you that you would never escape?”

Jack chuckled, a sound that was much darker than it had any right to be coming from his lanky body.

“You think your petty walls can hold me. Cute. You forget of what I am. Literally born of the sea. Not to mention a part of your crew. Have you so little faith in our ability to take what we want?”

Pitch was silent for a moment, studying his face.

“And what do you want, Jack?”

Jack stared back at him, eyes narrowing. That was a question he’d never been asked before. It wasn’t like Pitch cared anyway.

“Freedom.” He spoke slowly, as if saying the word aloud was a taboo, some noncommittal crime that he’d be scolded for.

Pitch nodded, his face shifting into a passive mask. He stared at Jack for another moment, bringing one hand up to trace fingers under his jaw, and then he was walking away, down the stairs that led to the mess hall and other rooms. And Jack was alone, confused and slightly cold without Pitch’s body pressed to his, only the forgotten sails to keep him company.

He couldn’t even bring himself to detest the fact that he wished Pitch would come back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last part that Fid an I wrote, we were just starting to get into some real plot and then oops, so long motivation.
> 
> some extra plot stuff in the end notes to sort of wrap this all up a bit since its pretty much abandoned.

Days later, Jack wakes to the boom of canons. The sounds crash through his small room, echoing through the hollow walls and reverberating through his ears. He twists, making to land in a crouch as he flips off his bed.

And then he notices the restraints.

His wrists are tied to his bedposts by thick, black rope. He yells in surprise and frustration, straining at the ties until his wrists are quickly bloody. In any other situation, this would be kind of kinky. Now, he’s just pissed. He shouts until his voice is raw, until he can feel blood slide down his throat from chewing his cheeks open. This is the opposite of freedom.

He stops yelling for a minute, glancing around the room, studying the ropes, trying to find anything, anything, that will get him out of this.

He is a pirate.

He wants out.

Pirates take what they want.

And then that is taking too fucking long, and he goes back to screaming and thrashing until finally, finally, he feels the wood of the bed frame give a protesting groan, and oh, oh, that’s his key.

Jack shouts curses at Pitch as he braces himself and gives mighty tugs, each one splintering the wood further. He makes sure to describe in vivid detail just how he’s going to tear Pitch apart when he gets his hands on him, how it’ll be slow and bloody and how Pitch is going to feel just as much pain as he’s putting Jack through right now, because being restrained against his will is worse than death.

And then the structure finally snaps, wood splinters and he is free. Jack flies off the bed as fast as he can, itchy to get away from it as if it’ll reach out and drag him back. He nearly tears the door off it’s hinges trying to get out, and then he’s tearing down the hall as fast as his legs will carry him, up the stairs and onto the deck. He can feel each cannonball being launched, each one that hits the ship, the force behind them nearly knocking him over.

When he is finally on deck, he considers launching into the air and leaving them right then and there to fend for themselves. He is so angry, so hurt, because this is what every single human tries to do. They think that if they tie him down he’ll stay. They don’t realize it just pushes him further away.

But he said his vows. He is part of this crew, and he knows he’d hate himself for leaving them behind when they need him, even if he’s pissed at the captain.

So he does what he can, giving them as much of a benefit from the air as he is able, then ducking back down into the ship because he’s an easy target, even if they can’t really see what it is that swoops down every few minutes to slash at their eyes.

Jack finds a sword from a fallen ally and swoops over to the foreign ship with a vengeance. His mates are stuck to swinging from the masts to get to close combat but Jack does not need that. He drops right into the middle of the enemy’s deck and really if he just stood there he’d blend in so well none of these Spaniards would bat an eye. He could just as easily join this crew as Pitch’s. What would become of that, he wondered.

The thought doesn’t stick long as Jack takes to his fight with a deep stab right into a rushing by pirate. The cry of the fallen foe alerts his own mates and Jack grins all fangs and violence as he leaps into the air dodging confused bullets to land again a few yards away to repeat his actions.

Really, Pitch should thank the seven sea gods Jack deigned to join his crew, for what better fighter did the captain have than one who was as stealthy as Jack?

He takes out his anger and emotions on the enemy with ease and little remorse. How dare he wake up restrained! How dare Pitch ever think that was a good idea! What in the depths of all that is unholy would possess the rat-bag to even think of tying Jack down? They had talked of that! Jack had said-!

He had to put a foot on the chest of the pirate to yank his sword out it had plunged so deep.

Jack wants to growl, to snarl, to shriek his rage. He restrains himself. He doesn't want to, gods above he doesn’t want to, but he did it. Pitch should be fucking grateful that Jack still finds worth in his crummy ship because otherwise he’d sing both of the heaps of wood to their demise upon the rocks of the nearest island.

\---

In the end, there’s minimal damage to their ship, and very few casualties. Jack flits back to his ship after hovering around the retreating vessel for a bit watching the enemy lick their wounds. He wonders if Pitch knows who just attacked them, because Jack sure as hell doesn’t. The opposing ship didn’t even fly their Jolly Roger indicating whatever reputation they might have had. So, how could he? He was shackled to a bed!

His anger returns in full, crashing over him and making him see red, and he stalks past the exhausted crew and up the stairs until he’s out in the open again.

The captain is up there, at the helm, shouting orders at his remaining crew. His eyes fall on Jack, and then widen. In any other instance it would be comical to see the stoic captain so taken aback, but now Jack is just pissed, and he runs at full speed towards him, sharp teeth bared and fingers curled into talons. He jumps at the last possible moment, right before Pitch could catch him, and slashes at Pitch’s face with the talons on his feet as he launches into the air.

And then he’s off, flying out in some unknown direction. He can hear Pitch calling after him, first a stern “come back here”, and then an increasingly panicked cry for Jack to come back.

He ignores the stab of guilt he feels for making Pitch think he won’t come back, because Pitch hurt him just as much.

Jack doesn’t return for a week, taking the time to sort himself out. He roosts at an island leagues away after exhausting himself from flying. Catching fish and eating them raw is a familiar routine from years alone and he spends his nights sleeping high up in trees. Jack blanks his mind by keeping active and swims in the oceans and cave ponds. He sings to himself, melodies and lullabies he hasn’t been able to exercise in several months. There’s no one around, not this far up, nor this close to sea, and he uses the time he has to do whatever. he. wants.  

The songs he’s denied himself flow freely and he practices the spells woven into the lyrics or wordless tunes letting the magic flow as wildly and loudly as he wants. It’s been awhile since he felt alone enough to just sing and Jack ends up shouting aloud his frustrations and emotions to the rocks and water. He talks for hours because it helps to sort his thoughts to voice them aloud. He regrets just a little his choice to clam up and play human.

He figures it’s enough time for Pitch to really panic, and he wonders if Pitch is going to scoop him up and apologize when he gets home, or if there’s going to be hell to pay.

He figures the latter is much more likely, but he likes to think that maybe Pitch sees the error of his ways finally. That maybe Jack could just have someone that cares because it is him, not because he is someone’s prized possession.

That’s a laugh.

He’s still baffled as to how exactly Pitch can see him as he is. Jack isn’t even really sure if Pitch does see him and not just some random siren because his greatest desire is something typical like ‘owning a mythical beast’ or ‘discovering that sirens are real’. Both cliche at best and overused.

Groaning, Jack takes to the air to find his ship. He plans to get the Captain to sketch what he sees of Jack or something at the very least before jumping ship permanently.

Maybe he can force Pitch to do the drawing on pain of death if whatever excuse he tries for why binding Jack to bedposts fails to meet expectations.

He can always dream.

When his eyes land on familiar sails that he didn’t cast, he swoops down, only taking a moment to circle the ship a couple times. There’s no one on deck. Makes sense, it’s the middle of the night and last Jack heard, they were dangerously low on rum. Having nothing to drink made for a pretty boring night for most of the crew.

His feet barely make a sound as he lands on the usually creaky wooden deck, a soft thump to signify his return. He glances around one last time, peering into the shadows. The guard is passed out against the nearest mast, a line of drool dribbling onto his double chin. Jack doesn’t care to wake him up, he knows there will be no attack tonight with his view from the air.

He doesn’t want to chance sneaking past Pitch’s room and waking him up. He’s too tired to deal with him right now. Instead, he flies up to the quarterdeck and nestles down into the sail folded by the railing, pulling whatever fabric he can find with him. He makes something that resembles a nest, then laughs quietly to himself at the irony.

When he wakes the next morning, he’s not alone.

Of course not.

He’s in plain sight, of course Pitch would’ve seen him if he’d just come on deck.

What’s weird though, is that Pitch is holding him. He is on his lap, bundled up into a tight ball. Pitch’s arm carefully cradles him under his relaxed wings. It would be nice, if not for the fact that it’s obviously a possessive gesture.

“Awake?”

Pitch’s deep voice vibrates through him, makes him shiver despite his best attempts to not be affected by it.

But he’s still irritated, and so he just says, “No, fuck you,” which only gets him a chuckle.

He starts to pull away, because fuck Pitch, but then those arms - oh god they’re so warm why are they so warm, fuck you Pitch - tighten around him, pull him back down, and he’s trapped once again.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you, you asshole. We talked about this, Pitch. I promised I would stay, so long as you didn’t get all possessive. And you did it anyway!”

“And yet here you are. You came back. Why?”

There are several reasons why he came back, and none of them are justifiable now that he is back.

So he goes with the common one, the one that makes the most sense.

“Because I gave my oath to the crew. I am part of the crew. I came back for them, because they are my family.” Jack can’t help that he sounds petulant.

Silence.

“So, it has nothing to do with me, then, Jack?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Nothing?”

Everything.

“Let me go.” The words are laced with steel. He needs out, needs to do something so he doesn’t fall back into those arms. Because Pitch locked him up, Pitch took away his freedom, and he knows if he does what Pitch wants, it’s just going to happen again.

He can’t let that happen. He still has the marks from last time imprinted around his wrists, bruises and cuts Pitch hasn’t even bothered to look at.

Jack gives one final tug, a hard wrench that must appear desperate enough for Pitch to let go. Jack is over the railing before Pitch can reach for him again, landing lightly on the balls of his feet on the wooden boards of the lower deck. And then he’s walking away, swiftly making his way towards the nearest store room so he can collect the things he needs to go about his duties.

He’s almost to the double doors when he hears Pitch call after him. “We make dock tonight, Jack. For rum. I expect you to attend me.”

Jack wants to tell him to go fuck himself, but thinks better of it just as he opens his mouth, because really, what good is it going to do.  What the hell does attend mean anyways? Like some slave or whore? Jack grinds his teeth.

This whole thing has spiraled so far out of hand it’s ridiculous. It’s been barely three weeks since Pitch squeezed his voice out of him and the man is acting like some kind of keeper! Even abandoning ship for a week barely did a damn thing to show the cocky bastard a taste of humility.

Jack fumes as he goes for the whetstone to sharpen the tools. Something violent like blade sharpening would be good. The galley would appreciate it and he could keep Pitch at bay with thrown knives. If they stick into the mast (or his chest) at least Jack would know they were sharp enough.

Stalking back out into the sunlight, Jack sets the stone and oil down at the front of the ship and turns to gather up any blade or tool he can find.

He quickly has a pile of sharp things to his left and he sits, straddling the stone to begin his work. He lets his wings relax behind him splaying out concentrating his strength to his arms instead for the task. Its a good exercise, exhausting in it’s repetition, and Jack lets himself calm once again. It becomes a sort of zen soon enough. Three swipes, a check, wiping with the cloth, three more swipes, repeat, flip the blade over and do it again on the other side. The salt of the sea corrodes and rusts the metals. Jack scrapes it off. He’s not the best at the task, but does it well enough for pirate standards. He doesn’t need to be able to slice one of his feathers to still be able to kill a man with how sharp he can make a saber. Though occasionally, maybe for the sword of a crew-mate he likes, he tries to slice the barbs of one of his feathers. Just to see how easily he can cut the down.

He wastes the afternoon this way, and is finally relaxing, feeling normal again. Waking up to Pitch holding him was jarring. (Downright rude and completely unwanted.) He’d not expected that in the slightest. It wasn’t like Jack was in an easy spot to get to, even if it was easy to see. Pitch would’ve had to put in effort to get to him.

He tries to remind himself that he shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t enjoy Pitch. Pitch, who took his most valuable thing away, how could he enjoy being held by the same person who put him through that particular brand of hell?

But those arms, they’re so strong, so warm, feel so nice in the cage they form around him.

Pitch knows Jack is fascinated. Even if Jack never truly voiced the anomaly, how rare it is. And, Pitch is using it against him. Jack should have left so many times. It is dangerous to stay. There are more ways to enslave a person than simple ropes on a bedpost. Pitch is impatient. He isn’t playing a long game, no human plays a long game.

He is selfish.

He will ensnare Jack and then what?

No, Jack knows what. Humans die. And Pitch is a pirate, a career choice for the young and fit only. Only the stubborn idiots and ridiculously cutthroat grow ripe, can retire. And Pitch is good, one of the most talented pirates he’s ever seen with a loot to rival his ancestors’. But he’s also careless and impatient at times, and that’s what’s going to get him killed.

He tries to think that it means he’ll be free again, because he’s not going to kill the captain, as he would normally do to the unfortunate souls who fell under his spell. He made that decision long ago. But the thought of Pitch dead, cold and pale and cast out to sea one last time, alone… it sends a  shiver through his body, makes him want to run to the side and vomit his midday meal into the raging ocean.

And maybe it’s because without Pitch he’d never have had any taste of freedom in the first place. Maybe because Pitch is the first mortal to see what Jack expects to be his true unadulterated reflection. Or, maybe because he knows that when Pitch dies, he’s going to have to find a new family, or go back to his old one. If they can even be called a family.

No mortal man lives forever.

~~~~~

Pitch waits for him at the dock, much to Jack’s annoyance. It’s an attentive gesture, one Pitch doesn’t normally display. It makes him uncomfortable; it’s so domestic. They’re not partners, can barely even be classified as lovers. Jack doesn’t want to be the center of Pitch’s attention right now.

He turns before Jack has fully reached him, so he only gets a glimpse of the smile on Pitch’s face. Pitch’s legs are long, and Jack doesn’t care enough to bother to try to keep up with him. If Pitch wants him beside him, he’s going to accommodate Jack’s pace.

It shocks Jack when Pitch does exactly that, and he looks up at Pitch’s face, curious as to why he seems to care now. He’s never really listened to Jack’s wants before.

The townspeople greet Pitch -  Kozmotis, as he goes here, because he’s certainly not a pirate and this is not a pirate town because those do not exist - with smiles on their faces, their beloved General returning home for the next few days. Their faces are deceptive, their clothing only adding the effect of prosperity. They look beautiful and bright, the ladies proper and quiet, the men gentle and eloquent in their fancy tongues.

But their smiles are mean, cruel things, their teeth nearly rotted from their heads and their gums grotesque variations of black and charcoal. Jack doesn’t feel the need to look away from their gleaming, beady eyes as he nods in response to their greetings - he’s not afraid of them. These people are his family now. Which really doesn’t mean anything; most of them would have had a knife or two pressed to his jugular at least once, suspicious of his unremarkability, but he knows they wouldn’t really hurt him without reason, even if their reasons were easily found.

He sees Jamie run up, a bright and exuberant boy, shoving through the crowd to get to him, but Jack shakes his head. Who knows what Pitch will do if Jamie pounces on him. Watching the kid get beheaded was not part of his agenda. He was another anomaly to Jack’s life, for when he heard Jack’s voice many months ago his vision wasn’t greedy, he saw in the siren Fun, of all inane things. It endeared Jack to him instantly to say the least.

Jamie comes to a halt just inches from the front of the crowd, face falling, and Jack gives him an apologetic shrug before continuing on. He’ll deal with him later, even if he is flattered that he sees and remembers him.

Pitch shoots him a questioning glance, but Jack just rolls his eyes and looks forward, a clear indication for Pitch to keep walking.

He doesn’t really know where they’re going - Pitch never really uses the same dealer twice. He follows languidly, taking in the town. It’s been a while since he’d last seen this place, and realizes now just how much he’d missed it. This was the island Jack settled to when he decided to forgo his clan and mythical design, the place where he first boarded Pitch’s ship.

They pass a small shop, and Jack peers in through one of the glossy windows. He can see bottles of sand, some black, others golden. Nightmare sand, dream sand. So near each other and yet so very different, he muses. He’s had first-hand experience on nightmare sand, seeing as it’s Pitch’s very own preferred weapon. Part of ‘initiation’ is withstanding the nightmare sand, or more accurately, withstanding your own reactions to it. You can’t have a cowardly crew.  

Other items in the shop are teeth strung up on a necklace, no doubt some furious sea monster someone had deemed worthy of killing and stealing from. Jack grimaces in disgust; those sea beasts protect what is theirs, humans have no right to kill them. Taking their teeth is like desecrating a human burial, it makes Jack want to vomit, because those creatures come from the same place he did.

The view is gone before Jack can look away, the shop molding into another. This one is significantly less interesting, and so he does look away, eyes following Pitch’s black-clad back through the throng.

They’re further inland than Jack would have thought Pitch would travel by the time they stop. They’re at a shack, small and rundown despite how many of the buildings on the island have been rebuilt over the passing years. Pitch doesn’t knock, but pushes the door open as if the gesture is familiar.

Jack follows him in when the Captain looks expectantly over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose at the stale air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i forget why we had pitch going to this shack or what he was planning to do directly. 
> 
> I think for the story we were planning on pitch taking jack on a journey to find himself immortality to have and stay with jack for the rest of eternity because he's a greedy bastard and won't let his death leave jack to someone else lol. jack has mixed feelings, but eventually finds the worth in having a companion who sees the real him and wants him for the potential rest of time. 
> 
> its all pretty dubious really, pitch has yet to show any true genuine qualities befitting an appropriate lover and partner for jack. He has them, somewhere down in the depths. really deep. really really deep. Jack was going to make him a better man throughout the journey.


End file.
